


Casus Bellum

by Sharpiefan



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-31 06:52:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3968569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharpiefan/pseuds/Sharpiefan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The shot that killed Private Dacey came from somewhere in the French ship's fo'c'sle.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Casus Bellum

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this pic](https://marcsardelli.files.wordpress.com/2012/09/royal-marines-1815-picc.jpg), discovered somewhere in the wilds of the Internet by [](http://wayward-shadows.dreamwidth.org/profile)[wayward_shadows](http://wayward-shadows.dreamwidth.org/).

  
**Title:** Casus Bellum  
 **Fandom/Canon:** Original  
 **Author:** [](http://sharpiefan.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**sharpiefan**](http://sharpiefan.dreamwidth.org/)  
 **Word count:** 524  
 **Rating:** PG  
 **Spoilers:** None  
 **Pairing/Characters:** Original characters  
 **Disclaimer:** I apologise; I can't remember exactly which ship was fighting which at any point, so there are likely to be some humoungus glaring great errors in this. Please don't kill me for them? Fictional events, to some extent, require fictional characters and so none of mine are real members of a ship's crew.  
 **Author's Note:** Inspired by [this pic](https://marcsardelli.files.wordpress.com/2012/09/royal-marines-1815-picc.jpg), discovered somewhere in the wilds of the Internet by [](http://wayward-shadows.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**wayward_shadows**](http://wayward-shadows.dreamwidth.org/).  
 **Summary:** _The shot that killed Private Dacey came from somewhere in the French ship's fo'c'sle._  
  
The shot that killed Private Dacey came from somewhere in the French ship's fo'c'sle. The unfortunate private ended up slumped over the rail, his musket cradled in the crook of his arm as though he'd fallen asleep on watch rather than been shot neatly through the head.

Kavanagh hopped up into the main chains, his musket already in the 'present' and heedless of the danger as he sought his mate's killer.

Maxted gaped momentarily at the suddenly-slumped figure, before stirring into life and reaching to get his crossbelts off. Every cartridge was needed, and this was no time to be squeamish over where those cartridges had come from.

Sergeant Rose was over almost immediately, pulling open the dead man's cartouche and starting to remove the cartridges from the drilled wooden block inside. “This'll be quicker,” he said, pressing a handful on Maxted, who merely gaped at him before shoving them any-old-how into his own cartridge box.

The sounds of cannon fire and musket fire from all around meant that Maxted very likely hadn't heard him, of course, and he passed a second handful to Kavanagh, who had hopped back down to the gangway to take what shelter he could from the bulwark as he began to reload.

The French ship was more or less pinned in place between _Temeraire_ and _Victory_ and there were few Marines left alive on her upper deck by now – and even fewer of those were unhurt, though Sergeant Rose was one of them. He was here, there and everywhere, it seemed, firing, encouraging his men – nobody had any idea where any of the officers where, though it was quite likely that Captain Sherrard was wounded or killed; he was definitely a 'come-on' officer in the best sense, and had been seen to arm himself with a musket and cartridge box as his men had done – there was little else he could do, pistols being too fiddly to load in the heat of battle and swords only being useful in a boarding action (theirs, or when repelling boarders).

It wasn't clear when the firing from the French ship finally ended, and her surrender was only made plain when someone aboard found a halliard and ran a much-tattered and stained French Tricolour up before lowering it.

The two ships were still locked together; _Temeraire_ had taken so much damage that her mizzen was gone and her mainmast looked in a fair way to join it. The two drifted free of the line which was almost obscured by thick choking smoke from the tons of powder expended by ships of both sides.

It was not a silence, though in comparison to the thunder of the battle it was – a thunder that continued, though more desultorily, between other ships whose battle was not yet decided. The creaks of the wooden ship could barely be heard. What was noticeable was the sounds of the living – moans, groans, gasps, shrieks, wrenching sobs.

But of all the impressions of the battle, the one that would stay the longest with Sergeant Rose, was simply the image of Dacey slumped over the rail.


End file.
